Practicality
by Anna Nigma
Summary: All the times Harry could have done things the easy way but didn't. Hello common sense. Rated for safety. No pairings. Chapter 3: Because if you're going to go to a teacher in a crisis why the hell would you pick Lockhart?
1. Accio

**Disclaimer: If I owned it I wouldn't be half so worried about paying for college.**

**A/N: The first in a series of shorts (and I do mean **_**shorts**_**) that will be updated sporadically as inspiration hits and the chapters will not follow any sort of chronological order.. **

**This first chapter takes place during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. **

**Accio**

Harry took a deep breath and stared nervously out at the lake. The water was choppy, the early morning air was cold, and he really had no desire to put the slimy, squirmy weed Dobby had given him anywhere near his mouth. He honestly didn't mean to be ungrateful and he knew the little elf meant well but this was _Dobby. _The same Dobby who, just two short years ago, thought that the best way to save his life was to send an extremely aggressive bludger after him during a Quidditch game. Dobby thought that the end justified the means no matter what those means were.

"Grievously injured my arse," he muttered darkly.

As much as he wanted to rescue Ron he had no desire to end up entirely boneless, in a fight with a very angry tree, or with gills in an inconvenient place for the rest of his life. Dobby's judgment regarding what was helpful and necessary was not to be trusted.

As it was, however, he didn't seem to have much of a choice. Unless he wanted to sacrifice Ron to the merpeople he was going to have to bite the bullet and eat the writhing green mass he was currently clutching in his fist. He shuddered slightly, it really did look unappealing and he suddenly wished that this task was as straightforward as the last one had been. Then it had only been his ass on the line and all he'd had to do was summon his broom . . .

That thought gave him pause and he stood for a moment stunned at the wonderful simplicity of the solution he had just come up with. It might not work of course, but it was certainly worth a try. The worst that could happen was that he would look a bit silly and that was a sacrifice he was willing to make if it meant there was a chance that he wouldn't have to eat the wriggling plant in his hand. It wasn't as if the people here didn't already point at him and whisper, they couldn't get much worse.

His mind whirled and he was so busy being amazed at his own uncharacteristic common sense that he missed most of the introduction and startled slightly when the whistle sounded. As the other three contestants sprung into frantic action Harry leisurely, almost casually, raised his wand.

"_Accio_ Ron Weasley!"

For a moment nothing happened and Harry heard the excited chatter of the crowd behind him dim slightly and then quiet altogether once they realized what he'd said. Harry ignored them, not minding in the least when disbelieving mutters replaced the silence. He stayed focused on the spell, drowning out even Bagman's excited bellows.

His persistence was rewarded. Just as he was about to give up and swallow the gillyweed he saw a series of ripples making their way towards him. The crowed spied them only a few moments after he did and the noise level rose to a fevered pitch as the ripples moved ever more rapidly in his direction. Suddenly, a mere fifteen feet away, Ron's head broke the surface of the water and Harry watched with relief as he gave a shocked gasp and attempted to rub the water out of his eyes. However, lost in the wonderful feeling of knowing that his best friend was alright Harry didn't notice that Ron wasn't stopping before it was too late for him to dodge.

The two boys collided with a wet, jarring thump and Harry felt pain explode all over his body where Ron's bony frame slammed into his smaller one. He lay on his back for a moment slightly stunned and unable to move with the larger, and now swearing, boy sprawled on top of him. Thankfully, Ron soon realized that he was crushing his best friend and managed to continue his rather impressive litany of dirty words and stand up at the same time.

Harry sucked in air greedily. Despite having never left dry land he felt as though he had actually been under water. He winced as he sat up, Ron had no body fat and Harry was sure that his elbows were sharp enough to get him stopped at the airport for carrying weapons. He shook himself like a wet dog, trying to dispel the ringing in his ears. However, once the sound faded he almost wished it hadn't.

"HE'S DONE IT! HARRY POTTER, THE YOUNGEST CHAMPION IS THE FIRST TO RETRIEVE HIS HOSTAGE! LESS THAN TWO MINUTES LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! IF THIS DOESN'T SQUASH THE NOTION THAT HE'S TOO YOUNG TO PARTICIPATE THEN NOTHING WILL!" Bagman's voice was near deafening, the combination of magic and excitement driving it to even greater volumes than usual.

Harry shrank back, attempting to get as far away from the noise as possible. Unfortunately, for him the cheers only got louder when the judges announced his score. Everyone had given him a ten save for Karkaroff and even he'd given Harry a rather respectable seven.

Harry gazed forlornly out at the crowd, ignoring Ron's jubilant shouts and backslaps. While the majority of them looked pleased with his win there was still a significant portion that looked as though he'd forced them to suck on good dozen lemons after killing their pets. He didn't even want to imagine what the retribution for this latest success would be.

Harry sighed but managed a small wave in the direction of his housemates and winced as the shouting increased once more.

He almost wished he'd eaten the gillyweed.

**A/N: Okay first chapter down. I only have two more planned for this fic but I'd welcome suggestions. Reviews, especially those with constructive criticism, are both appreciated and adored. ******


	2. The Portrait of Walburga Black

**Disclaimer: This is not and never will be mine.**

**A/N: This chapter takes place during the fifth book when the Trio and company are at Grimmauld Place for the Christmas Holiday. **

**The Portrait of Walburga Black**

Harry Potter was having the worst holiday he'd experienced since starting at Hogwarts. It had started off innocently enough but the taint of Voldemort now hung over everything Mrs. Weasley tried to do to inspire Christmas cheer. Even the decorations looked more sinister than usual.

Harry knew that a lot of that gloom had to do with Grimmauld Place itself. It wasn't as if he didn't look forward to spending the holiday with his godfather but the house, with its decapitated house elves, cursed books, and Kreacher, did nothing for his already dangerously low levels of holiday spirit. It wasn't Sirius fault of course, he probably hated the place more than anyone else. It was just that no matter what anyone did the dirt and darkness seemed to be as much a part of the house as the foundation, solid and unmoving and ancient.

And then there was Mrs. Black.

Quite possibly Grimmauld Place's most annoying inhabitant, Walburga Black had been dead for years but she had found a way to insure that the misery she had inflicted on her oldest child could continue long after she herself had become worm food. Nothing seemed able to silence her. No spell or potion could budge her from her place of gruesome, shrieking glory in the entryway. Everyone from the twins to Professor Dumbledore himself had tried, failed, and eventually given up any hope of seeing her evicted from the premises.

But Harry, sick and tired of listening to the bigoted old bat wail, had been plotting.

Magic, both light and dark, had failed and in a case of classic wizarding nearsightedness everyone had given up. Even Hermione, who like Harry knew that life without magic was possible, had thrown up her hands and declared the situation hopeless. Nonetheless Harry remained convinced that the Muggle world held the solution. Alone in his quest Harry had spent a week brainstorming and brooding and researching until he hit upon the perfect solution.

The day after his breakthrough began like any other.

It did not stay that way.

It wasn't unusual for Harry to sleep in so no one was particularly worried when he didn't show up for breakfast but as the hours ticked by people began to grow agitated. By the time lunch had passed agitation had turned to outright worry which quickly became panic when Ron was sent upstairs only to find the room the two shared empty. So when Harry walked in the front door at precisely 2:17 P.M. perfectly unharmed and lugging two muggle shopping bags he found himself with quite the audience, which of course had been the point. Unfortunately he forgot to plan for one thing.

Volume.

All people react to worry in different ways. However, they all have one thing in common. They tend to be very, _very _loud. So when they started their group harangue chaos erupted.

Hermione shrieked, Ron bellowed, Mrs. Weasley shouted, Sirius hollered, Ginny scolded, the twins managed to berate him in perfect unison, and the rest of the order chimed in with the occasional vehement exclamation. But one voice rose above the rest. Mrs. Black carried on in her usual way not realizing that she was about to be abruptly and permanently silenced.

In a most uncharacteristic move Harry ignored his friends caretakers and marched over to the wailing portrait. He was a man on a mission and nothing, not even a slight miscalculation, was going to stop him now. He might have lost the element of surprise but that certainly didn't mean that he was beaten. The yells from his allies turned quickly to confused queries as they watched him pull a plethora of strange muggle artifacts from his bags.

"Harry?" Hermione said incredulously, finally managing to make herself heard over the general din, "What are you doing?"

Harry gazed straight ahead, face stony.

"Ending this." Then with a single grim smile he grabbed the now open bucket of paint at his side and threw it at the picture in front of him.

The paint hit the canvas with a determined splat and before anyone in the hall could stop him he darted forward, paintbrush in hand, ready to vanquish the beast and save the day once more.

The order watched in silence, too surprised to move or yell or question, as the last sliver of hag gave way to clean, white silence.

Harry heaved a hearty sigh, gave a resolute nod and turned around to meet his fate looking terribly pleased with himself all the time. Everyone seemed to take this as their cue to move and they erupted into chatter once more. One voice however was noticeably absent.

"Brilliant!"

"Completely amazing–"

"Why didn't I think of that!?"

"Three cheers for Potter!"

"Wonderful dear! Of course it doesn't excuse–"

Harry grinned cheerfully. He was _good_.

**A/N: Okay second chapter down. I only have one more planned but if someone sends in an idea that catches my attention I'll try to do that one too. : ) Reviews, especially those with constructive criticism, are both appreciated and adored. **

**Anyone who can tell me where I got the title for this chapter gets virtual cookies! Hint: think short stories and old movies. **


	3. Adult Supervision

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. **

**This chapter takes place in the second book and begins right after Ginny has been taken into the chamber. It's bit more serious than the others.**

**Adult Supervision**

"D'you know what?" said Ron, "I think we should go and see Lockhart. Tell him what we know. He's going to try and get into the Chamber. We can tell him where we think it is, and tell him it's a Basilisk in there."

Harry fought the urge to sigh as he listened to Ron talk. His best friend was a good guy and an amazing chess player but when it came to the real world he had no clue how things worked. He had spent his entire life surrounded by people who cared and looked out for him. He still thought that going to an adult, no matter who that adult was, would solve everything. He still believed that, no matter how much of a prat Lockhart was, he was a good person deep down. Ron honestly believed that he would do the right thing and try to rescue Ginny.

But Harry knew better.

Not all adults were brave or kind or honorable. Sometimes the only things to be found deep down_ were_ cowardice and vanity and selfishness. The Dursleys were like that and Harry was fairly sure that Lockhart was as well. He was willing to bet the entire contents of his Gringotts vault that the phony was packing his bags and preparing to run right at that very moment. They would get no help from him.

Harry gave up and indulged in a rather downtrodden sigh. He didn't want to shatter the small amount of hope that Ron had managed to scrounge up but it would be worse to let him hear it from Lockhart or to simply find the idiot's rooms empty with no explanation. He would have to think of something else. Ron wouldn't be able to sit still and do nothing for much longer and Harry was pretty sick of feeling useless himself.

"Well?" Before he could decide on a course of action he was distracted by Ron's impatient sounding query. He looked rather annoyed and he was twitching something awful. "What d'you think? We should go, right? We should leave right now, right? What's the matter with you, just sitting there like that? We should be off hunting down the thing that has my little sister! We should–"

"Ron." Harry cut off the other boy's increasingly hysterical monologue. "Lockhart is a useless ponce. You know it. I know it. Everybody in the entire bloody school knows it. Hell, even the teachers know it. You heard them back there. They only said that stuff to Lockhart to get him out of the way so that they could figure out what they needed to do."

Ron slumped like a puppet with its strings cut, the frantic determination of a few moments ago leaving him as suddenly as it had appeared. He got up slowly, as if her were very old or very tired or very sad. Harry thought that in that moment he might have been a bit of all of those things. He didn't like that at all but he didn't say anything as Ron trudged up the stairs without a word. Harry almost followed him. He almost gave up, was a few seconds away from leaving Ginny for dead when, quite suddenly, he realized that if he gave up now, if he threw in the towel now when it counted more than it ever had before he would spend the rest of his life doing the same.

He would be Lockhart.

This thought did not settle well at all. Harry was a Gryffindor, heart and soul, and the thought of such cowardice was enough to make him instinctively recoil. It was all well and good to be brave when things were easy. What counted was what you did when things got hard and things didn't get much harder than they were now.

And because Harry was a Gryffindor he straightened his spine and shook off the resigned grief that he had allowed to settle over him. Because Harry was a Gryffindor he would not bow before the overwhelming odds. But it was because he was more than just a Gryffindor that he would succeed.

Because he was loyal and determined enough to make the hat consider Hufflepuff he knew he would stay there thinking for as long as it took.

Because he was clever enough to be a potential Ravenclaw he knew he would be able to come up with something.

And because he was almost, almost a Slytherin he knew that he would be able to make it work, by hook or by crook, by whatever means necessary.

He knew he would succeed. He had to. There was no other way.

And the moment he knew all that he knew exactly what he had to do.

It was almost absurdly simple and for a brief second he was torn between laughing at himself and beating his head against a wall because it was. Just. Too. Easy. In the end he did neither, because doing either would mean wasting time and he didn't know if Ginny had any time left.

Instead he ran.

Out of the portrait hole, through the corridors, and down three flights of moving stairs Harry flew, the long years of being chased by Dudley and his gang finally paying off. He almost passed it but managed to skid to an abrupt halt in front of the door to Professor McGonagall's office.

Just because Lockhart was a brainless twit didn't mean that _all_ teachers were. Flitwick was a former dueling champion; Snape was a bastard, that couldn't be denied, but he was a powerful, smart bastard; Professor McGonagall was just plain _scary; _and Harry was certain that even Sprout, who was quite possibly the most sweet-natured person he'd ever met, would be a sight to see when provoked.

And if the kidnap and possible death of a student wasn't enough to provoke them then he didn't know what would be but he'd be sure to find out because he wasn't leaving until they listened to him.

Thankfully such measures were far from necessary. Before he was even halfway through with his tale Professor McGonagall had flooed the others and by the time he was done they were all standing outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. From there it was an easy thing to determine that yes, Myrtle really was the girl who'd been killed all those years ago. And that yes, she died in the bathroom and it had been ever so strange and wasn't Harry sweet for asking.

Harry shrugged off a horrified shudder at the thought that _Myrtle_ of all peoplemight have a crush on him and after a brief search, during which he was uncomfortably aware of the fact that she was staring at his rear, Professor Flitwick managed to find a snake carving on one of the taps and Harry had the entrance opened in short order.

He'd honestly expected to be brushed off then, treated as a child once more now that he'd served his purpose. However, help came from a rather unexpected quarter. Snape.

"It is highly likely that we will need Potter's _skill, _again as we progress farther into the Chamber._" _He sneered as he spoke as if he found the idea of Harry having a skill both utterly ridiculous an extremely distasteful. Harry however, didn't care what tone he'd used. All that mattered was that he wasn't going to be sent off to twiddle his thumbs like a useless toddler while Ginny's life hung in the balance.

It didn't matter that Professor McGonagall had his arm in a death grip. It didn't matter that Professor Sprout had been instructed to grab him and run at the first sign of trouble. It didn't matter that Professor Flitwick had all but blinded him in an effort to ensure that there was no possible way for him to connect with the basilisk's stare. They needed him. He was going.

Harry winced. Professor McGonagall might have looked old but she was disturbingly strong. He was almost sure to have bruises on his arm tomorrow. After the slide down the pipes into the Chamber he decided that it wasn't just his arms that were in for a bruising because judging from the size of the snakeskin littering the floor Harry was surprised that the thing could even fit it's _tail _in the pipes much less its whole body. He briefly contemplated having second thoughts about coming down with the teachers before he resolutely shook such musings off. Ginny was Ron's baby sister and he would rather eat a dungbomb than let any of the Weasleys down.

The group moved forward, father and farther into the dark until finally, after what seemed like years, Harry's seeker eyes caught a flash of red amid the Chamber's greenish gloom. His first impulse was to rip himself away from Professor McGonagall and run to see if Ginny was alright. His second was to yell. He went with his third instead and tugged softly on the transfiguration mistress's sleeve, silently pointing out the unmoving body of the youngest Weasley. McGonagall sucked in a sharp breath and released his arm. She pushed him almost roughly towards Professor Sprout, who immediately took over the job of cutting off all blood flow to his fingers, and nearly flew across the room to where Ginny rested.

Harry, however, now that the first urge to run had passed felt almost inclined to drag his feet. He wanted to stay back where he couldn't tell whether she was breathing, wanted to know that he had saved her, and desperately, desperately wanted to close his eyes tight and hum in case that wasn't the case.

But Harry was a Gryffindor.

He looked.

She was breathing. Slowly, shallowly but she was alive nonetheless and for a moment it seemed that everything would go back to being right. Ginny would wake up. The Weasleys would be whole. Harry would not fail.

But Ginny didn't wake up.

No amount of shaking or spells could rouse her. No whispers made her stir. She simply slept, loosing more color every second, the sound her breathing growing fainter and fainter.

She wasn't dead but she _was_ dying.

"She won't wake." The voice was cold, factual and seemed to appear out of thin air.

Harry whipped around and found himself almost nose to nose with the shade of Tom Riddle. He looked impossibly neat, oddly insubstantial, and horrifically amused. Harry listened with growing horror as the older boy explained who he was and what he'd done. It seemed impossible, unnatural, as if such a thing should never be allowed to happen. To hide a piece of yourself in a book, keep it preserved between the pages like a flower someone pressed and then forgot about. But then considering who was talking it wasn't so surprising.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

I am Lord Voldemort.

For a brief moment as the letters hung in the air there was silence. Then the world seemed to explode. As one the Professors shot spells at Riddle only to have them pass harmlessly through his form. Spout lifted Ginny in one arm and pulled Harry away from the fray with the other. Then the basilisk was called.

It was enormous. Well over fifty feet of highly venomous monster with deadly yellow eyes the size of garbage bins. It seemed resistant to most magic, the spells ricocheting of its hide sending avalanches of rock and dust raining down on the combatants. Riddle stood in the middle of the battle, untouchable. It was like watching the end of the world played out to a soundtrack of high, cold laughter.

He felt oddly calm, disconnected almost, as the chaos raged around him. Professor Sprout had joined the fray leaving Harry with an unresponsive Ginny as his only companion and despite the noise of the battle he felt curiously alone. It was like watching a film he decided, like it wasn't happening to him. He could see the plot laid out before him. Hero, villain, damsel, monster. This was the finale, where everything came together so it could fall apart.

But what was the connection? What had brought them to this point? Harry took a deep breath and thought. It came to him easily as if it had been there all along.

The diary.

It was the only answer, the only solution that made sense. He had to destroy the diary.

Unfortunately the diary rested almost perfectly in the middle of the battle raging before him. Getting it would not be easy, might even be deadly but he had no choice. The Professors were busy holding off the basilisk and Ginny was in no condition to do anything so it had to be him. There was no one else and there were no other options.

Harry stood and looked about for a weapon. He somehow doubted that the book would fall prey to tearing or any other normal means of destruction. Then he spotted it. Long and jagged, the white of the fang stood out like a small sun against the Chamber floor, solid proof that the monster was not entirely unharmed.

Harry ran, dodging and ducking under spells. He scooped up the fang easily enough and managed to neatly avoid a swipe from the basilisk's tail that took out two columns. However, his luck did not hold out for long. Only a few seconds later a distinctly poisonous looking curse caught him in the arm, splitting his robes and the skin beneath as if they were nothing more than paper.

He stumbled and almost fell, pausing for a precious moment to grit his teeth before he started to run again. He knew that if he stopped he would die and that was unacceptable. He had a job to do. It wasn't just Ginny's life on the line anymore it was everyone's. If Voldemort came back _everyone_ he cared about would die.

The adults had noticed him by that point and were yelling at him to go back, to get down, to stop. Harry ignored them, ignored the creeping burn emanating from his wounded arm and kept running. He snatched the diary off the ground and dodged behind the nearest column.

He stumbled slightly as he sat down and tried to get a good grip on the fang but it was slippery with venom and blood and his hands were oddly clumsy. He could hear the basilisk writhing in pain and he knew that it would die soon. He would ensure that it's master died with it.

He brought the fang down hard, stabbing it through the cover, watching as the ink spurted and bubbled out like thick black blood. Riddle began screaming but Harry didn't pause to look at him, his grip was weakening fast and he found it necessary to hold the fang in both hands as he brought it down again and again. The basilisk had stopped flailing and the sounds battle had ceased. Harry brought the fang down a one more time and after a last piercing shriek Riddle fell silent as well.

The fang fell from his shaking hands and he gasped for breath as if he'd run a marathon. He was tired. The area surrounding the cut on his arm was almost completely numb, the burning sensation long since spread to other appendages, leaving pins and needles in its wake.

He heard footsteps and looked up to find he was surrounded. The Professors looked rougher than he was used to and none of them had escaped without at least a few minor injuries. They looked rather funny actually. Harry was vaguely amused but he couldn't seem to get enough air to laugh. Sprout took his wounded arm in her hands and began gesturing wildly at the others. Harry tried to tell her that he was fine, that his arm didn't hurt, but his mouth didn't want to move. He was too drained to be truly upset about it. McGonagall was though. Her lips were pressed together so tightly that he couldn't even see them. That was funny too, Harry decided.

He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and go to sleep but he knew he couldn't do that yet. This was mostly because he wanted to know if Ginny was alright but also because a little voice in the back of his mind was telling him that going to sleep now would be a very bad idea indeed. It sounded a lot like Hermione so he decided that he would listen. She was usually right.

He felt himself being lifted off the floor, which was rather disconcerting as Harry couldn't remember ever being carried. This feeling was immediately magnified by roughly twelve times when he realized that the person doing the carrying was none other Severus Snape. Harry stared up into the dark, cold eyes, empty of their usual contempt and full instead of something else.

It looked a little like respect.

**A/N: Wow. This was . . . much longer than I intended it to be. Three times the length of the other two, which admittedly isn't saying much. For all intents and purposes this is the end of this fic although if anyone has requests or suggestions they will be duly pondered and perhaps elaborated upon.**

**As always review are both appreciated and adored. **


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